


Friday Nights

by Zilchtastic



Category: Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilchtastic/pseuds/Zilchtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's starting to become a Friday night regular, filling up a table all by himself, a quiet presence that nevertheless manages to throw Tifa off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Nights

He comes into the bar sometimes, orders a beer, and then sits there, nursing it for hours.

Tifa watches Rude from behind the bar, trying to look as focused as she can on washing glasses and mixing drinks so he won't notice the scrutiny. Of course, it's impossible to tell if he's watching _her_\-- the dark sunglasses hide everything almost as well as his non-expression does.

"Business or pleasure?" Tifa asks, cautious but not exactly _mean_, when he signals for one of his rare refills. Seventh Heaven is on the quiet side tonight, which means that she can murmur low enough for only Rude to hear.

He takes the glass, large fingers brushing hers accidentally (or so she tells herself).

"Not business," Rude says, finally, and somehow his tone manages to imply _the other remains to be seen._

Tifa scurries back behind the bar, where it's safe.

***

He's starting to become a Friday night regular, filling up a table all by himself, a quiet presence that nevertheless manages to throw Tifa off.

"I'm surprised you're never with your partner," Tifa says, depositing a fresh bowl of pretzels on the table. She's fishing, as subtly as she can.

Rude shrugs. "I just want a quiet drink sometimes." He doesn't have to add the rest, that bringing Reno along would make things less than quiet, more like _explosive_, and Tifa can't help smiling at that.

"You should do that more often," Rude says, taking a drink of his beer.

"Do what?"

"Smile."

Someone calls for another pitcher, and Tifa is grateful for the distraction. She tells herself her cheeks aren't burning at all.

***

After two months of routine, Rude breaks it one Friday night when he shows up early, just as Tifa's reaching up to switch the OPEN sign on.

"Oh, hi," she says, feeling awkward without the buzz of a crowd to put distance between them.

"Can't stay," Rude says, succinct as always. "Just wanted to bring you these." And then he puts a bouquet of flowers in her hands, just five tiny, delicate blossoms that probably cost a week's pay since nothing grows in Midgar, still.

Tifa stares at them for a long moment. Her skin feels hot. "I don't know what to say," she murmurs at last. "I..."

"I'm not asking anything," Rude says, and for just a moment his tone thaws enough for Tifa to hear awkwardness. "I just wanted to."

Tifa puts them in a beer glass and sets them behind the bar. They wither in a few days, but she can't bring herself to throw them away until next Friday, emptying them out with Rude's eyes on her from across the room.

She slides over and sets down his beer. "On the house," she says, shifting, tugging at the edge of her apron. "For... for the flowers."

Rude is silent for a long time. Tifa watches his fingers skirt around the edge of the glass, a slow caress, as if he's touching something softer.

"I'll bring more tomorrow," he rumbles at last, ending it like it's a question. Tifa thinks, _I can say no._

"Okay," she says, instead, and then she gifts him with a careful smile.

***

The next day, he brings roses.


End file.
